


r.i.p. roomie

by polkaprintpjs



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:26:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26866612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/polkaprintpjs/pseuds/polkaprintpjs
Summary: im on tumblr @megatronismegagone
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	r.i.p. roomie

Your door is fixed the very next orn when you get back from your duty shift, which was mostly just heckling Hoist and Trailcutter while they fucked around in whichever docking bay it was. 

Honestly, it’s a wonder they didn’t set off the sprinklers- why the sprinkler controls are in a docking bay, of course, is a question for the ages. 

You’re not surprised by the quick fix. Generally, people are pretty eager to put as many barriers between you and the gen pop as much as possible. 

Sure, the door didn’t stop you much longer than the time it took to take a couple steps back before you slammed through it, but hey. 

Can’t blame ‘em for trying. 

You don’t bother with the code, just send the command and it slides open easy enough, sticks halfway. You brace an arm on each side, one on the door and one on the frame, and push. Over the screeching you can hear people sticking their helms out of their habs to bitch, so you take care to push slower so the shrieks of metal are really drawn out. 

When the door’s completely open, the way it’s supposed to, you step through, turn to face the hall. 

Skids is there, arms crossed. 

“Was that actually necessary?” 

He doesn’t actually sound pissed, not that means anything. 

“Yep!” You say, pitching your shitty vocalizer as far up into cheerful as it’ll go. Comes out more a grating whine, but better than the shit you’d been given the first time around. 

You don’t break optic contact as you reach out and grip the door in one claw, start to drag it back. The strain burns through your arm and chassis and you ignore it. 

Skids rolls his optics and walks off as you force it closed. 

Door shut, you look over your hab. 

It looks fine, nothing obviously damaged or disturbed. Cool. You don’t leave it there, obviously, check under the counter space and berth and in the cabinets. 

It’s clear and you drop onto your berth, a little disappointed. 

Eh, you’ll go poke around Swerve’s in a while, harass him into a drink or three. 

You shift so you can watch out the window, off into space. Arms crossed beneath your helm, leg crooked on a pointy knee. Nice and comfy. You wiggle your pede idly. 

The nebula keeps on keepin’ on outside. 

Boring as shit? 

Absolutely, but it’s better than wandering around till Swerve’s open. 

You take a second to think about poor ol’ Animus, former owner of the second berth on the far side of your room. He’d gotten around to stocking the bedside table with orange touch-up paint, and now  _ there’s _ a thought, and what a thought it is. 

Your very next duty shift is in that same docking bay, isn’t that a neat little idea? 

And your, uh,  _ coworkers _ aren’t half useful anyway, and certainly aren’t keeping an eye on the solvent level sitting pretty in the sprinkler system’s tank.

**Author's Note:**

> im on tumblr @megatronismegagone


End file.
